


These Bloody Hands Are Tied

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan wasn't hiding under the table when the Earl's men attacked. Set after the final fight in Episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Bloody Hands Are Tied

Athelstan watched as the bodies of the raiders were piled up in the cart and carried away. He offered a silent prayer for the dead among Ragnar's friends, though he knew such offerings would not be welcome if he spoke them aloud.

When the fighting began, Lagertha had thrust the children at him--Bjorn still heavy with drink and half-asleep, and Gyda wide-eyed and unarmed. "Stay back," she had said, and then, sword drawn, she had turned to the battle.

He had done as she asked, kept the children away from the fighting, though it was all such a blur of blood and noise that he could not tell which way the tide of battle was turning. All he could do was look for Ragnar and Lagertha in the midst of the fighting, to reassure himself that they were still alive and on their feet.

And then a raider had fallen in front of them, his blood spattering Athelstan's boots. The man was dead before he hit the floor, but there was an axe still clutched in his hand...

Now it was over. Bjorn had fallen back into his drunken slumber, and even Gyda was beginning to doze, wrapped in Athelstan's coarse woolen cloak.

But Athelstan could not settle. He paced back and forth in front of the corner where the children slept, his lips still moving in quiet prayer. He scarcely knew what he was praying for--most days it seemed to be a mixture of forgiveness and protection, but now his prayer was only words, a rhythm and a sound more for comfort than for any hope of answer.

He did not hope for that anymore.

"Athelstan?"

He stopped pacing and looked up. "Ragnar." Had it been only an hour ago that they were sitting by the fire, drinking ale together? It already seemed to be another world.

"You are well? You were not hurt?"

He nodded. "And you?"

Ragnar's smile was sharp. "This blood is not mine."

"...I see." It was wrong to be relieved by that knowledge, a sin to thank God for the well-being of a man who had murdered his friends. And yet he thanked God none the less.

"The fighting is over now," Ragnar said.

"I know that."

"Do you?" Ragnar's voice grew strangely gentle. "You have an axe in your hand, Athelstan."

He looked down. "Oh, I..." He had forgotten he was still carrying it. His fingers were cramped and aching where he clutched the haft, and it was a struggle to release the axe and lay it aside. "Forgive me. I know it is not permitted for a-- for a slave to bear arms. It belonged to one of the raiders you killed. I was afraid they might come after the children, so I took the axe." A small, derisive sound forced its way out of his throat, gasping on the edge of hysteria. "As though I could have done anything to stop them. I am not even good for chopping firewood, let alone fighting off raiders. I have no idea what madness possessed you to put me in charge of your children--"

Ragnar's embrace put an end to Athelstan's helpless babble. It was sudden and fierce, and the thick leather bracers on Ragnar's wrists were going to leave bruises on his back. Ragnar smelled like copper, like blood, and no doubt there was blood on the hands that curled against the back of Athelstan's shirt. All the same, Athelstan felt the last of the battle's nervous tension leave him, and he let his head rest on Ragnar's shoulder.

He could not remember the last time he had been touched in kindness.

Shocked into stillness, Athelstan could not even summon the courage to return the embrace. When Ragnar stepped back, he curled one hand against the side of Athelstan's neck, standing so close that Athelstan wondered if Ragnar meant to kiss him.

The thought made him shudder, but no longer in revulsion.

"You are a good man," Ragnar said. "And a brave one."

Athelstan began to shake his head. "No, I am--"

"If you say _a sinner_ , I will strangle you," Ragnar warned dryly.

He smiled weakly. "I was going to say a coward."

"No. A coward would have run away, or hidden, abandoning those who needed him. You held your ground and stood ready to protect what is most precious to my wife and to me. We are grateful to you."

Athelstan looked away.

Ragnar's hand moved to his shoulder in a friendly clasp; it was foolish for Athelstan to feel disappointed by the change.

"You can keep the axe," Ragnar said lightly. "You have earned it. Go back to your prayers, Athelstan. In the morning we will leave for home."

He could not help staring after Ragnar as he crossed the hall, the last of Ragnar's words echoing strangely in his ears.

_Home_.

**Author's Note:**

> If I've done my reading right, Viking slaves were only permitted to have a _knifr_ , which was basically a utility knife. Athelstan doesn't quite understand that it's a big deal for Ragnar to let him keep the axe, but it kind of is.


End file.
